


What You Need

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Eskel (The Witcher), Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Lambert (The Witcher), Facials, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Hand Feeding, Jaskier & Vesemir, Kaer Morhen, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Platonic Jaskier/Vesemir, Rimming, Scar Worship, Service Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Sub Lambert (The Witcher), Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: “Geralt, are you sure you're up for this?” He looked a sight better than when he returned to town, but mostly recovered was not good enough for the kind of athletic sex Geralt looked keen on having. “While I greatly enjoy the things we do together, you still look out of it. Maybe this once, I can take care of you instead? You can sit back, relax...”
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 211
Kudos: 666
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, please. The Jaskier/Vesemir is very platonic, but a nice, sweet dynamic between the two of them. But that's a later chapter...
> 
> Don't let the chapter count fool you: this is smut, no plot. It's also the result of that tumblr post half of us have probably seen, about how since Geralt is so big and in charge everywhere else, he probably never gets taken care of in bed... my brain extended that out to "none of them get taken care of. Time for Jaskier to fix that."
> 
> More tags to be added as I post more chapters. If you find a typo, feel free to include it in your comment and I'll take care of it. As always, enjoy <3

Large hands were everywhere—sliding down Jaskier's sides, holding tight to his hips, pushing his thighs apart before moving back up to let fingers comb through his chest hair. Fuck, Geralt was everywhere. Hair loose from its tie, silver white locks cascaded down over Jaskier's shoulders, tickling in the best way, making him shiver as lips kissed his neck and a warm tongue licked across newly bitten love bites.

It had been a fuck of a week. Or, four days, but it definitely felt like a week. When Geralt received a contract for “a shrieker,” he rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Cockatrice.” It was too dangerous for Jaskier to follow, so he waited in town as Geralt pursued the thing through the forest—searching every fucking cave—for three and a half days.

On the third afternoon, when Jaskier had taken to pacing _outside_ the inn, instead of up in their room, he saw Roach appear from the three line. White hair matted and bloody, Geralt sat in her saddle at an angle, cockatrice head hanging from his hand, its eyes gouged out.

Jaskier ran to meet him and stayed by Roach's side. He did not like the way Geralt leaned in the saddle, like he could barely hold himself up. As his eyes flicked around for injuries, Geralt shook his head. “Not hurt. Tired. Cockatrice hid its lair well. Searched for three days. Battle took too long.” A few black veins remained as the last bit of toxicity drained from him. Jaskier led Roach to the alderman and collected Geralt's payment. Geralt didn't like collecting payment with potions still surging inside of him, but Jaskier knew what the sight did to humans (other than him). It was visible proof, more than blood or an open wound; only a Witcher took those potions, and if they felt the need to poison themselves to get the smallest edge over a creature, then the town better fucking pay up.

Gold in hand, Jaskier ordered a bath, washing the worst of Geralt's blood and grime away outside the stables. He didn't even flinch as the cold water hit him and Jaskier frowned. Geralt didn't usually let himself get this exhausted by a beast...

After a bath, a meal, and a good night's rest, he was mostly recovered and making the most of their last night with a bed. “Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled against feverish lips biting his, making them rosy and plush. “Geralt—” Teeth traveled down his neck as a hand fluttered between his legs, thumb ghosting over his sac. “Geralt, are you sure you're up for this?” He looked a sight better than when he returned to town, but _mostly_ recovered was not good enough for the kind of athletic sex Geralt looked keen on having.

“Mmm. Does this feel up enough to you?” With a snap of his hips, Geralt's impressive cock slid up Jaskier's thigh.

All that hot blood radiating out inhuman warmth... oh, Jaskier almost dropped the argument and let Geralt finish what he started. But the dark circles under his eyes were unusual, the tired crease to his unfairly beautiful skin, and the way his eyes were a little too slow to react... Jaskier ran a thumb across Geralt's cheek, smiling when he leaned into the touch. “While I greatly enjoy the things we do together, you still look out of it. Maybe this once, I can take care of you instead? You can sit back, relax...”

Jaskier would absolutely not complain about any part of their sexual relationship. Not how it started (with Geralt simply taking off his clothes and telling Jaskier he smelled like arousal and should just climb on already, so romantic) or how things usually went, Geralt focused solely on Jaskier's desires, driving him mad with pleasure for hours on end. But if pressed, Jaskier had the tiny observational note that Geralt wasn't very good at _accepting_ pleasure in return. He focused on sex the way he hunted a creature: absorb all needed information, make a plan, execute said plan. Instead of looking up weaknesses, he found all the spots that made Jaskier moan. Instead of formulating an attack strategy, he figured out whether it was best to take Jaskier on his knees or face to face. Instead of killing the monster he spent so much energy tracking, he fucked Jaskier into next week. It was all lovely and Jaskier had never been more well fucked in his entire life... yet he couldn't help but feel he was getting away with the better part of this relationship.

Geralt's hands stopped moving, his cock still sitting hot and heavy against Jaskier's hip, proving to be a bit of a distraction. “What do you mean?”

“Oh...” He bit down on the coo that so wanted to break from his chest. Unfairly plush lips turned down a little, eyes still focused on him, Geralt had never thought—never had the smallest notion—of sex that didn't involve him taking the lead. He was big, broad, shoulders made to grab and hold onto for dear life, and the stamina of the gods... it made sense, it really did. Most people who looked at that body (and didn't immediately flee from a Witcher) probably thought it was built to do all the work. Well, Jaskier was here to put a stop to that kind of thinking.

Rearranging them—Geralt moved with such little prodding, so sweet—Jaskier got him to lie on his stomach, coming to rest on the backs of those thick thighs. “Jaskier, what are we doing?” He tried to look over his shoulder but Jaskier pushed him down into the pillows before stroking his back. Goosebumps followed the light touches and he saw he was on the right track.

“Let me guess,” Jaskier kept his voice low and soft, giving sensitive Witcher ears a rest as well, “because you're big and strong, and everyone expects you to dominate in bed, that's all you've ever done?” Fetching the chamomile oil from the bedside table, he poured some across Geralt's back and started kneading strong muscles. He rubbed Geralt's tension away in the bath earlier, but massages were sexy and relaxing, definitely a fitting part of a long, luxurious night together.

Geralt didn't answer at first and he let Jaskier rub away the last few knots that escaped him earlier. As hands started drifting down towards his ass, long fingers squeezing and rolling his warm, relaxed muscles, he finally spoke, “It's part of our training... of sorts.”

“Oh?” Jaskier didn't want to push. He went for more oil and massaged down Geralt's thighs, his whole back side shiny with oil by now.

“Humans don't like Witchers. We're taught that, if we take a whore, or anyone else who actually wants to fuck us, we have to make it good. If we don't do the job properly, word spreads, and the world has one more reason to hate us... brand us as greedy lovers.”

Jaskier climbed back up and slotted his chin against Geralt's shoulder. “Just because you enjoy being taken care of doesn't make you greedy. You fuck me, do everything for me. Am I a greedy lover?”

“No, of course not.” Geralt tried to roll over, but Jaskier held him down. It wasn't a matter of strength at the moment, more of leverage, and if Geralt truly wanted to unseat Jaskier it wouldn't be a problem. But he deserved a night of care and fuck yes Jaskier was going to give it to him.

“Exactly.” He kissed down Geralt's spine. “So tonight, you're going to lay back and let me take care of you. Alright?” Geralt nodded into the pillow. “Good.”

Jaskier set to work. Geralt's back was more or less as knot-free as it was going to get, but he still took another moment to run his fingers over tired muscles, raking his nails lightly and watching goosebumps rise and fall. A small shiver ran across those wide shoulders, accompanied by a pleased little moan. He devoted a moment of attention to pressing his thumbs into the thick muscle of Geralt's ass, pushing the last bit of tension away.

Swiping his fingers along Geralt's crack, he pulled his cheeks apart, exposing his hole. Fresh from the bath, skin shining and soft, Jaskier licked his lips. If Geralt spent most of his life giving pleasure rather than receiving it, he might not be up to Jaskier's cock inside him tonight... only one way to test that theory.

Lulled half to sleep by the soft attentions, Geralt only realized what was about to happen the second before it did. “Jaskier, I'm not—” The second the warm tip of a tongue circled around his hole, the rest of Geralt's words dissolved into a moan. And not one of his usual noises, growling and grunting, this was breathy and dripping with pleasure, Geralt almost didn't recognize the sound as his own.

“Not clean? Is that what you were going to say?” Jaskier whispered between licks, his words vibrating against sensitive skin. “You are most incorrect there, my dear Witcher, for I'm the one who washed your beautiful ass just today.” He licked a stripe all the way up Geralt's crack and got another breathy moan. So delicious. “Not only are you clean enough for my tongue, but I intend to spend a good amount of time here tonight. Prepare yourself to be feasted upon.”

These were not idle threats apparently, for as soon as the words left Jaskier's lips, those same lips returned to his hole, sucking and slurping at the rim, making all sorts of lewd noises... But none were so lewd as the ones spilling from Geralt's mouth. Cock trapped between himself and the bed, he tried to rut, get a little friction, but Jaskier's grip on his backside proved too much and he could barely move to get the smallest amount of attention on his cock, he was going to come from Jaskier's tongue alone and there was nothing he could do to change that fact.

With each swipe and lick of his tongue, Jaskier pushed him closer and closer to the edge. Geralt had never felt—of course he'd done—but not _this—_ fuck, even his thoughts weren't working correctly. “Ugh, Jaskier...” More pants and moans. He didn't usually sound like this, but oh, if anyone knew how to wring unmanly noises from him, it would be Jaskier. Fingers strong from playing stroked down the edges of his cheeks, ungodly slurping noises spilling from Jaskier's mouth. Geralt felt a trickle of saliva make its way down his perineum and he gasped. “ _Jaskier_.”

“Mmm, I love it when you moan my name.” Jaskier put in his best performance: hands roving all over, touching sensitized skin. The furled skin fluttered and clenched, but Geralt did loosen up. Soon enough, Jaskier moved beyond licks and pressed the tip of his tongue _inside_.

“Urgh-ahh, _fuck._ ” Forehead pressed into the pillows, Geralt's hips stuttered, cock spilling across the bed sheets. “Jaskier, fuck...” His vocabulary reduced down to a single word, Geralt closed his eyes and let his head fill with snow, the last tingling threads of his orgasm slowly ebbing away.

Jaskier retreated, pausing to bite one of those delectable ass cheeks (sending a last tingling spark through Geralt) and lay across Geralt's back, his wet chin resting on a meaty shoulder. He let his body tune to Geralt's—feeling all the tension the orgasm chased away—and found he had a loose and pliant Witcher under him. “More?” he whispered.

“Yes...” Geralt slurred.

Rolling Geralt over, Jaskier bent over his cock and lapped away the come sticking there. There was a wash basin nearby, but it was so much nicer to do it this way. The soft kitten licks and long strokes of his tongue had the desired effect and soon, he had a hard cock against his lips. Witcher stamina was fucking _magical_. He didn't take it in his mouth right away, deciding to take his time and lick Geralt from sac to tip. He nudged thick thighs open and nibbled down the inside, pulling twitches and jerks from already quivering muscles. Hands came up to curl into his hair, but not to push or direct, more seeking to anchor himself in Jaskier.

When he finally took Geralt into his mouth, he steadied the base with one hand and let the other dip down between his legs. Circling his hole again, he found it still soft and open from his earlier efforts. The oil was already out on the table, close enough to reach without pulling his lips away from the fine cock they were entertaining...

The noise Geralt made when an oily finger circled his hole was, somehow, softer than when it was Jaskier's tongue. Barely a breath of a sound, Geralt let his knees fall open wider. Jaskier took him up on the offer and pushed inside, locating the little nub of nerves and brushing it. A gush of precome spilled across his tongue. By the time Jaskier worked a second finger in, Geralt clenched around him, so close to a second climax. It was the simplest thing to push him over again.

Drinking down his second load—and what a load, stupid virile Witchers—a little dripped down his lips. Geralt's eyes met his and a quirked eyebrow had him moving up, blanketing across that firm chest, their lips meeting in a sticky kiss. He lapped the remains of his own spend from Jaskier's lips and chased it on his tongue, hand floating down to Jaskier's cock hard against his side.

“You didn't come.” He nuzzled his nose along Jaskier's neck, fingers starting to stroke.

Jaskier pulled away with a small kiss. “Not yet. Not until you're satisfied.”

Jaskier spent the next few hours worshiping Geralt's body: there was another massage, followed by loving licks and kisses over his scarred skin, always a little bit of a sore point, but he let Jaskier have free reign tonight. Finally, relaxed and nearly boneless, Geralt made a weak grab for Jaskier's cock. “I'm satisfied. What about you? How can I repay your kindness?”

Once again, he let Jaskier arrange them, rolling Geralt onto his side and lifting his leg. He'd been slick and open all night, it only took a little more oil for Jaskier to slip inside, both of them moaning. “Fuck, it's been... a while,” Geralt grunted. He reached back, settling a hand on Jaskier's flank and encouraging his slow thrusts to go a little faster. “Could definitely get used to this.”

After waiting all night, pushing his own desires to the back of his mind to focus solely on Geralt, Jaskier skin prickled all over. The touching, the heightened closeness, it brought him to the brink a few times tonight without even touching his cock. He mouthed at Geralt's neck, teeth scraping. “Afraid I probably won't last long...”

“You lasted all night.” Geralt tilted his hips back to give a better angle and took over the responsibility of lifting his own leg. “Come on, bard, give me what I want.”

And with that, Jaskier's hips snapped a little faster, heat sparking and crackling through his body, coalescing in his hips. With one last thrust, he buried himself deep inside Geralt, shouting into the shoulder in front of him. His teeth bit down as he came, no end in sight...

After that night, Geralt was more than happy to let Jaskier take the lead. There were still quick, rough fucks in their camp at night, blow jobs on the side of the road, but the luxurious nights happened as often as possible. After a contract, or for no reason at all, Geralt became accustomed to sitting back and letting Jaskier make his body sing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Jaskier walked into Kaer Morhen for the first time and his eyes feel to Eskel—Geralt's brother in arms, but like him in so many ways—his fingers itched to trace those lovely scars. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep it in his mouth, he wanted to taste them as well, so very badly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my desire to see my friends after such a long lock down and lick their faces, but the idea of Jaskier worshiping Eskel's scars like that pleases me to no end. Get ready for Jaskier treating the rest of the wolves.
> 
> If you find a typo, please let me know and I'll see to it. And, as always, enjoy <3

“Mmm, more...”

Jaskier shivered, relishing the open request for affection. “Of course.” He trailed his lips back up the ruined side of Eskel's face, kissing the scars with all the reverent tenderness they deserved.

It took a while (almost a full winter) to get Eskel to open up like this, but oh it was so worth the wait. The moment he walked into Kaer Morhen for the first time and his eyes feel to Eskel—Geralt's brother in arms, but like him in so many ways—his fingers itched to trace those lovely scars. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep it in his mouth, he wanted to taste them as well, so very badly...

Geralt primed him on the way up, “Eskel's... sensitive. About his scars. Try to keep that in mind.” The very fact that a Witcher admitted to being _sensitive_ about anything made Jaskier's heart swell. Add in Geralt trying to prepare him to ensure his brother's comfort made him melt a little more.

The first few days, it was an effort to keep his hands and eyes away from Eskel. They all more or less tolerated Jaskier's doting, saw the way he sat on Geralt's lap in the middle of the dining hall and brushed fingers through his hair, saw Geralt's eyes roll back in contentment and a purr roll from his chest. Lambert was the first to see if Jaskier was _open_ for more.

Chuckling against the young Witcher's throat, Jaskier let his hand travel down that firm chest, so like Geralt's but still so different, a little more lean and lithe. “I think you'll find, my dear, that Jaskier is open to _all_ Witchers.”

After watching Lambert's success, Eskel finally took the plunge, inviting Jaskier to his bed for the first time. Strong hands cradled Jaskier, holding him firm and secure even as he arched back enough to over balance, but Eskel wouldn't let him fall. Eskel kissed down his chest, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking until Jaskier moaned his name. While he was in no way comparing, some similarities emerged. The way Eskel shifted Jaskier around, trying to stimulate all parts of him at once—hand on his cock, cock in his ass, lips on his neck, other hand stroking the inside of his thighs—and how he squeezed two orgasms from Jaskier before letting himself go for the first time that night.

Sticky and tired, spread across the bed, Jaskier let his eyes trail over the glorious Witcher next to him, sweaty skin gleaming in the fire light. Though he was so close, letting Jaskier trail fingers over his arm in post-coital bliss, Eskel made sure to angle his face away, hiding his scars.

Jaskier sighed. “You're all the fucking same, aren't you?”

Surprised eyes blinked at him, a strange emotion to see splashed across the face of a predator, but adorable and endearing all the same. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Jaskier climbed onto Eskel, straddling his hips and grabbing his chin with a gentle but firm hand. “This whole 'I have to give everything or else I'm a selfish lover,' rot. Whoever taught you all that, I'm going to give them a serious talking to.”

Eskel smirked. “Vesemir's room is across the landing.”

He ignored that. With a hand on his chin, Eskel couldn't get away from this conversation. Well, he could—Jaskier's solid frame aside, he was no challenge to Witcher strength, he even enjoyed being manhandled by Geralt from time to time—but he wouldn't. “Did you ever think that I might like taking care of my partners as well? Hum? Maybe I want to spend the night treating you.” He leaned down and kissed the corner of Eskel's lips where the scar cut through the pink skin. A twitch crossed that handsome face and his eyes dropped away. “Especially because you seem to need it so much.”

“What do you..” Eskel shivered as Jaskier's lips moved up the side of his face, pressing along the edges of his disfigurement where the nerves were extra sensitive even after all these years. The skin crackled with each small touch and Eskel shivered.

“I want to make you feel good,” Jaskier whispered. His breath ghosted across the scars, warm and soothing. A tremor rolled through Eskel from head to toe, hands gripping tight to Jaskier's hips, probably a little too hard but he couldn't let go, if he let go he'd fall apart. The soft tip of a hot tongue brushed the jagged line cutting through his eyebrow. “Tell me if it's too much.”

“It's...” Wave after wave of sensation prickled along Eske's skin. Jaskier didn't stop at his face, he leaned down and licked over the scar at his neck, this one from a contract—griffin if he remembered correctly—not from a personal shame. It felt just as amazing. Petal soft lips passing over ruined skin, down his neck, over his shoulder and around the bite mark there, kissing and licking the raised white crescent scars. By the time Jaskier reached the claw marks that decorated his ribs, Eskel was panting. “More, _please_ more.”

When Jaskier made it all the way down his legs, kissing every torn bit of flesh he found on the way down, Eskel's cock was drooling onto his stomach. So close, all he needed was one brush... The hot mouth that worshiped his body settled over the head, warm fingers circling his shaft and Eskel came, spilling down Jaskier's throat. He drank it down with the same reverence he showed kissing Eskel's scars, pulling a broken moan from the Witcher.

Shaky and spent, Eskel melted into the bed. Jaskier smiled down at him, more than a little smug. “Geralt says winter is a time of rest. Maybe let me take care of you? It's what I'm here for.” Gentle fingers trailed down the side of his face, over his scars once again. Eskel barely flinched this time. _A small improvement._ “If you doubt my ability to care for the needs of a Witcher, Geralt will give you rave reviews. I'm sure, by the end of the season, I can gather more, if that's what you'll need to—ah!”

Though he was tired and content to spend the rest of the night melting in front of his fire, Eskel was still in possession of better reflexes than a human bard. He rolled over, pinning Jaskier to the bed underneath his more solid body, wringing the most hilarious noises from him. He smirked and Jaskier scowled at him, but he quickly erased it with a kiss. “If you wish to take care of me this winter, who am I to deny you?”

“Is that what _you_ wish?” Lightly calloused fingers brushed behind his ear, scratching lightly and bringing more tingling fire.

Eskel's shoulders shivered pleasantly. “Yes, I think it is.”

It took a bit more work for Eskel to open up. Whenever Jaskier's fingers or lips moved towards his cheek, he turned away at first. “You don't have to...” But Jaskier wasn't one to give up and soon, Eskel begged for the attention, the worshipful kisses across the reminder of his shame. They didn't talk about it, but Jaskier hoped his attention did a little to lessen the guilt Eskel still carried, guilt that had really passed its usefulness.

“More, please, more...”

Jaskier had spent the last twenty minutes kissing and licking Eskel's face with a few quick detours to attend to his other scars. He didn't know how much “more” he could give, short of fully coming on them to prove he didn't find the scars repulsive. Oh, now there was an idea.

“Eskel,” he mumbled, stopping to devote a moment to licking Eskel's frankly adorable ear lobe. He was rewarded with another full body shiver, cock leaking on his stomach. A decent sized pool of slippery precome had already gathered in his navel. “I have an idea... slide down a bit.”

Eskel shuffled down to lay flat on his back, pushing the pillows away. He smirked a little as Jaskier went to straddle his face and tried to open his mouth. “No, not like that,” Jaskier said. “Turn your head.” Like any good Witcher, Eskel was good at taking instruction. For all their bluster about being lone hunters, they worked well as a unit, soldiers trained to be just as deadly on their own as they were together.

With his ass _on_ Eskel's chest, the first flush of awkwardness appeared. But strong hands steadied his hips, waiting to see where Jaskier planned to take this. Getting his knees under him so Eskel didn't have to support all his weight, Jaskier slowly stroked his cock. Over an hour worshiping Eskel's body, Jaskier spread the wealth of precome welling at his tip down the shaft, giving just enough slide. “Mmm, yes...” Golden eyes gazed up at him, a small smile curving those unfairly kissable lips.

Most of his coordination focused on staying upright with one hand on Eskel's shoulder and the other on his cock, Jaskier needed to direct a bit. “Turn your head.” Eskel did and Jaskier sighed. “The other way, I want to see them.” It took a poke with the head of his cock, but Eskel finally turned his chin the other direction, showing the livid red lines to Jaskier.

His strokes sped up. “Fuck, you're so beautiful.” Eskel closed his eyes, that small smile returning. “I'm serious. If you're all too stupid to believe me, I'll just keep saying it until you do. You're beautiful. Your scars take my breath away, they're my proof: you fucking survived. Whatever you came up against, it got a piece of you, but you _won_. Whether it was a beast or your own internal torments.” Eskel's fingers twitched against his hips.

Jaskier ran his thumb over the longest of the lines, from eyebrow to the tip of Eskel's chin. “Fucking beautiful. They captured the sunset in your eyes and there's fire in your skin, burning out to destroy whatever seeks to cut you. You may bleed, but you are the victor, so strong...” He didn't plan to ramble so much, but Eskel was just too beautiful, the words flowed from his lips. Nothing worthy of a ballad, his mind was too scrambled at the moment and Eskel probably wouldn't appreciate the world knowing of their winter liaisons.

Squeezing his cock, Jaskier fought to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see it—the moment he came and Eskel's eyes lit up. He didn't have long to wait.

Sparks crackled under his skin, pushing him over. The first streak landed wide and hit Eskel's neck, but using the last of his coordination, Jaskier managed to get the next few pulses to spill across his cheek, thick drops rolling, sliding into the grooves and following them down like rivers of spunk. Eskel caught a few with his tongue and the last of Jaskier's strength left him.

He managed to fall onto the bed rather than the floor, eyes heavy, legs sore from all his work. He meant to finish the job too, lick his come off Eskel's face, rub their noses together, show how dearly he loved every part of this Witcher as well as the others. He tried to crawl back onto Eskel's chest only to get the small shake of a head. Holding Jaskier's eyes, Eskel dragged his thumb through the come sticking to his cheek, pushing it into his mouth.

Jaskier's cock gave a valiant twitch. “Fuck, Eskel.”

Once he cleaned most of it, he rolled closer for Jaskier to finish the job, tongue tracing the small creases of his skin that might trap the sticky fluid. Eskel rubbed his cheek over the side of Jaskier's neck, sighing deeply. “I smell like you.”

“You better.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent exchanging lazy kisses and whispered poetry, Jaskier always pressing an extra few to the scar as he composed about the coarse beauty of battle wounds. Eskel saw it as his shame but Jaskier would always see it as a badge of honor. “After all, if that injury killed you, we never would have met. What a waste...”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlike his brothers, Lambert took to Jaskier's caring like a duck to water. The first night after they broke the ice of “Yes, I'm Geralt's bard, but that doesn't mean I'll shun other company,” Lambert sprawled on top of Jaskier, laying between his legs as he kissed down that wonderfully hairy chest.
> 
> Jaskier nudged Lambert a little and found he easily went where he was put, rolling over, letting him on top to trail lips and fingers down his chest without the smallest resistance. When Jaskier's fingers first brushed his hole and Lambert fucking cooed, he knew they were on to something...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in love with Lambert, he's tied for my favorite Witcher. I have to actively restrain myself from just writing Jaskier/Lambert at least 50% of the time.
> 
> Also, I haven't written anything D/s themed in a long, long, LONG time. We're talking over a decade. And (at the risk of sharing a little too much about myself) I am not subby at all, so it's difficult for me to write from that headspace. This is mostly focused on Jaskier's view of Lambert. Please be kind this chapter, but I do appreciate feedback. Enjoy <3

Unlike his brothers, Lambert took to Jaskier's caring like a duck to water. The first night after they broke the ice of “Yes, I'm Geralt's bard, but that doesn't mean I'll shun other company,” Lambert sprawled on top of Jaskier, laying between his legs as he kissed down that wonderfully hairy chest.

Jaskier nudged Lambert a little and found he easily went where he was put, rolling over, letting him on top to trail lips and fingers down his chest without the smallest resistance. When Jaskier's fingers first brushed his hole and Lambert fucking _cooed_ , he knew they were on to something. Oil in hand, he nibbled at the side of Lambert's neck and slid two slick fingers down his crack. “Lift your legs for me.”

Lambert brought his knees to his chest, exposing _everything_ straight away—the luscious curve of his thighs, his long, glorious cock and heavy sac, all the way down to his tight little pucker—a feast for Jaskier's eyes. It took a second to remember what he was trying to do. With the truly lovely sight of Lambert's pink hole on display, Jaskier had to take a few steadying breaths. He circled his fingers around the tight ring, massaging the muscle to relax and drawing more noises from Lambert. “That's right, make all the noise you want. I want to hear you.”

Breathy pants and the sweetest, softest sighs you've ever heard soon followed. Jaskier's cock—untouched so far—twitched and leaked, wanting to fill that soft, wanting hole... Silky walls clenched down on his fingers and Lambert keened. “Jaskier, please—”

“Shush, shh... I won't make you wait.” A little more oil just to be sure. He planned to finger Lambert as long as he wanted just to get more of those noises but his body had it's own demands. Usually, Jaskier was good at pushing down his needs until the very end, until he knew his partner was satisfied. Golden eyes peered up at him under long, dark eyelashes and a growl built in his chest. Jaskier sunk his teeth into Lambert's neck as he sunk his cock in that ass.

“Do you want to be mine this winter?” he growled, hips rolling slow despite his quick, clipped words. “I'll take such good care of you, fill you with come whenever you want. Would you like that?” He'd done these sorts of things before—tied ladies to his bed, spanked male partners, put them in their place—but always at his partner's request. Jaskier didn't try to seek out submission or even ask for it, but the way Lambert's eyes looked at him, so soft and open, ready to give whatever Jaskier asked... a deep heat stirred in his belly and the sudden need to protect this rugged Witcher from the cruel world filled him body and soul.

“Jaskier.” Lambert's hands fisted into the bed sheets, his legs gripping tight around his hips.

“Arms up.” No sooner had the words passed his lips than Lambert complied, lifting his arms above his head and resting them against the pillows. One hand on Lambert's hip, Jaskier wrapped the other around his wrists, pressing them down into the bed, just enough for him to feel a strain at his shoulders. Stretched back as he was, more of Lambert's skin pressed against Jaskier's, more sensation, more sweaty slide as he rocked his hips. Lambert's eyes fell closed and he bit his lip, relaxing back into the light hold.

While Lambert easily lost himself in their fucking, Jaskier couldn't take his eyes off that beautiful, rough face—soft eyes, softer lips as Jaskier directed their pace. He'd never seen a Witcher so relaxed, a man with the literal weight of the world on his shoulders, able to shed his burden for a moment and let someone else take the lead. Jaskier was so enthralled, he scrambled to get a hand around Lambert's cock before he came. Lambert arched into him, come splashing across his stomach and Jaskier's fingers as his climax ripped through him. Jaskier came watching the bliss roll across Lambert's face.

It took a moment for Lambert to fully come back to reality, eyes closed, his mind enjoying the peace a good orgasm brought. Jaskier held him tight, watching for any possible negative reactions but also watching Lambert, his emotions no longer hidden from the world in this moment.

When Lambert shuffled back into Jaskier's chest, a deep sigh let him know he was back on this plane of existence. “That was nice.”

“You enjoyed it?” Jaskier didn't want to push—frank discussions needed to take place—but he couldn't resist curling his finger around the shell of his ear and watching the shiver run all the way down Lambert's spine. He nibbled lightly along the back of Lambert's shoulder, getting another shiver and a soft moan, Jaskier wanted more of that sound filling his ears. “What did you like in particular?”

“I liked... not having to worry about holding myself, making it good for you before I came. I don't want to be selfish—”

“You're not.” Jaskier didn't want to interrupt this very important moment, but they all needed to get that selfish lover notion out of their heads immediately. “You are so far from selfish, you made it so good for me. I'd like to do it again.”

“Yeah.” He snuggled back into Jaskier's heat, nudging until the bard threw an arm and a leg over him like he wanted. “I want it too. Might be nice to not think for a season...”

“What have you done before? Anything you like?” These didn't seem like the reactions of a person completely new to surrendering to a partner. Jaskier suddenly found himself worried Lambert might be sharing himself with the wrong sorts of people, those who didn't see his surrender and quiet request to give over control as the gift it was.

“Just Eskel and Geralt. And never like this. I let them move me around, put me where they want, order me a little. They do the thinking.” He picked up the hand over his chest and rubbed the pads of Jaskier's fingers down the scarred side of his face until Jaskier got the message and continued unaided. “We can do more than that. I want more with you.”

On his nights in Lambert's room, Jaskier kept his voice low and smooth as he directed their pace, settled Lambert across his lap and fingered him open, hips rutting against him. Every time he looked down and saw the ecstasy across that coarse face, teeth biting down on his lip and sighing softly, Jaskier wanted to give Lambert the world, make him feel filled and owned and safe, the only safety this world offered to Witchers was behind the walls of Kaer Morhen, and now, Jaskier's arms were safe as well.

Jaskier didn't know what made him do it, but on their way to Kaer Morhen the following winter, he stopped at a brothel. Geralt's eyebrows nearly flew off the top of his head but Jaskier shooed him away. “Give me a moment.”

“We don't need more oil,” Geralt grumbled, but went to see about a room at the inn.

Jaskier knew some brothels sold items _discreetly_ and he was in need of such an item. He didn't show Geralt. “It's not for you,” and the Witcher didn't press. It only seemed fair, Jaskier had massage oils and soaps to dote and pamper Geralt, and Eskel's needs only required his lips and fingers, it was only natural Lambert should have a sign of Jaskier's care as well...

Lambert didn't react when Jaskier showed him the collar. They were alone in Lambert's room, Geralt and Eskel were occupying themselves, he was sure (Jaskier wasn't the only slut in this keep, oh no) and the door was locked, just how Lambert liked it. He done things with Geralt and Eskel, but private time with Jaskier was _private_ , he'd no more intrude on Eskel than he'd want them intruding on him.

Lambert said nothing for a very long time and Jaskier curled his fingers around the soft leather, moving to put it away. “I'm sorry, I don't know what made me think of it. We never discussed—you said you wanted more and I thought—”

A hand shot out, fast as lightning, stopping Jaskier's movements. Lambert's eyes flicked from the collar, up to Jaskier. Holding his gaze, he slowly opened the laces of his tunic, breeches following a moment later. Jaskier didn't say a word as Lambert fell to his knees in front of him, their eyes linking them together in the moment.

Jaskier couldn't help the shake in his fingers as he wrapped the collar around Lambert's throat, sliding the buckle into place. He tested it with a finger between the leather and Lambert's skin. “Not too tight?”

Lambert shook his head, already mouthing at Jaskier's cock through his breeches. “I want to be yours,” Lambert said. It wasn't a whisper, nothing shy about it, just the true expression of his desire, what he wanted from Jaskier. “I don't want to think about the world, only you.”

“I'll take care of you,” Jaskier promised. “Now, do you know what I'd like right now?” He ran his fingers through Lambert's hair, scratching at his scalp as Lambert opened the ties of his breeches and licked the head of his cock.

Jaskier stopped him before he came and ordered Lambert onto the bed. Sitting himself against the headboard, Lambert fit snugly between his thighs, back to chest, Jaskier wrapped a hand around him and let Lambert melt. He kissed up his neck, lips passing over the collar again and again. With one hand stroking Lambert's cock, he moved the other between his legs, pressing behind his sac. No oil yet, but they had all night, he had all night to please and play with the perfect body sliding under his hands.

He always made sure Lambert came twice before taking his own pleasure from his lips or his ass. Lambert and the others spent their lives making sure their partner was satisfied, ignoring their own needs and pleasures. Jaskier had to fix that, he had to fix them all, show them there was far more to sex than ignoring their own desires.

Most nights they were together, Jaskier spent the majority of their time sitting and reading on Lambert's bed, or scribbling away in his composition book, his free hand carding through Lambert's hair as he dozed between his legs. When his fingers drifted down to play with the collar, Lambert started to stir, ready for Jaskier to take care of him.

Already achingly hard, Jaskier set his book aside and opened his breeches with one hand. “Hands and knees,” he said.

Lambert complied. Kneeling in the middle of the bed, his head hanging between his shoulders, waiting for Jaskier to fuck him and fill him and make him drip with his come. Jaskier knelt behind Lambert and took a moment to rub his hands all over that supple skin. They all let him take care of them in winter, which meant balms to soothe and soften, oils to massage, and soap to bathe them. His efforts turned them into the fluffiest wolves in all the land, and Jaskier never passed up and opportunity to rub his hands along now creamy skin.

His thumb trailed from the top of Lambert's spine, all the way down his cleft. The made love earlier, traces of oil and Jaskier's seed spilling out as he fingered the open pucker. With a little more oil on his cock to make Lambert drip, Jaskier sank in, pulling a moan from both of them. The sweetest little moans and shudders fell from Lambert's lips as he stayed exactly where Jaskier put him, not moving a muscle except to let more cries escape into the air. Jaskier never wanted Lambert silent, he wanted to hear that breathy voice curling inside his ears and snaking down his spine to pool in his pelvis with the rest of his release, just waiting until Lambert was satisfied.

A long string dripped from the head of Lambert's cock onto the bed. “Touch yourself,” Jaskier instructed. Right away, one hand wrapped around himself, Lambert started stroking in time with his thrusts. Jaskier saw his shoulders shake, felt the flutter around his cock. “Do you want to come?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Go ahead. Let me hear you.”

Quiet little kitten moans turned to deep grunts as Lambert let himself loose, hand gripping tight to his head, wringing a second—or was it third?—climax out. The pungent smell of come ticked up in the room, the whole keep must smell like fucking at this point, but nowhere as much as Lambert's room, where Jaskier gave every last drop Lambert needed.

Jittery aftershocks shook through him, nearly pulling Jaskier over as well. He had just enough mental clarity to growl, “In you or on you?”

“In me.”

With those two little words, Jaskier knew his final act of satisfaction of the night would be filling Lambert to the brim—just like he promised. Heat sparked up his shaft and Jaskier came hard, harder than usual for the second one of the night. He kept thrusting, pulling more stimulation out of Lambert to coax the last few weak pulses from his own body. When he had no more to give, he slumped back and watched a drip of his own spend make its way down the inside of Lambert's thigh before his loose hole winked shut.

A sudden madness flooded through him, a strange heat in his chest. He couldn't control himself as he climbed to his knees, shoving two fingers into Lambert's soft hole. He shivered, but did not move from where Jaskier put him. “One moment...” His voice sounded so far away as he watched his own come squish out between his fingers, soaking Lambert's legs, dripping down his wrist. “Fuck, you are so beautiful like this, filled with me...” Jaskier sighed.

He leaned forward, tongue going straight to Lambert's ass. He yelped in surprise but soon melted, letting Jaskier do whatever he was going to do. Chin wet with saliva, oil and come, Jaskier lapped at Lambert's hole, tasting himself along with musky sweat from their earlier play. He licked until Lambert was clean—down his thighs, over his sac—and felt another orgasm shudder through him.

“Jaskier, I can't...” Lambert's legs shook, ready to collapse. Wiping his chin, Jaskier eased him down to the bed and spooned around him, slotting his chin over his shoulder, the leather of the collar brushing his wet cheeks.

“You were so good tonight,” he whispered. “I'm sorry, if I took to much...”

“It was perfect,” Lambert mumbled, drifting away.

When he came back to reality, Jaskier was still fretting a little. Lambert never shook like that, he was too strong, his body capable of taking anything Jaskier gave him. If he went too far...

“Stop thinking so loud.” Lambert shimmied a little and found himself clean and no longer covered in come. Jaskier was always tender, even when Lambert was so spaced out, he didn't notice a cool cloth against his skin. “Fuck, bard, you need to eat me out more.”

With a laugh, the tension broke. _I didn't take advantage of his trust_ , Jaskier assured himself. After a few minutes, he slipped the collar off and put it away safely, settling into bed with Lambert curled around him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt, Eskel and Lambert loved food and ate ravenously, but they'd eat day old bread off the ground if they were hungry. Vesemir hadn't had a pallet to impress in years, or anyone patient enough to sit as he handed them bite after bite to try and give feedback. Jaskier was a revelation, a new companion for Vesemir to feed and grumble about his boys with. Jaskier was always down for a good grumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the platonic Jaskier & Vesemir chapter. If that's not your jam, feel free to skip. It's a little shorter than the others because no sexy times, but I wanted to show other sides of life at Kaer Morhen during the winter. This chapter gets slightly anachronistic. I try to keep everything vaguely medieval, but I'm also one of those people who watches Great British Bake Off and the idea of Vesemir loving fancy cooking (even though no one really appreciates it) gives me warm, fuzzy feelings, so please excuse the use of modern baking ideas.
> 
> Please enjoy, and if anyone finds a typo, let me know and I'll take care of it.

“Open your mouth.”

Jaskier's lips parted and a morsel of chocolate rested on his tongue. He chewed thoughtfully rolling the sweet cake around his mouth. Vesemir wanted real feedback on his cooking, not simple “it's good,” or “needs salt,” like he got from his idiot sons. Jaskier loved them all dearly, but he had to agree they were a little stupid sometimes.

“Mmm...” He considered the chocolate cake in his mouth. None of them knew their real birthdays, so Vesemir liked to celebrate one every winter. Last year it was Eskel's birthday, this year it was Geralt's. Eskel had an appetite to shame them all, so the dining hall tables bent and almost bucked under the weight of half the deer in the surrounding forests, and mountains of Vesemir's good vegetables. Geralt had a sweet tooth large enough to devour the moon (given it was made of sugar) so Jaskier volunteered to test the cakes Vesemir made. “I think this might be the one. Perfect balance of sweet and salty.” He opened his mouth for another bite and Vesemir fed him another small square, old fingers brushing against his lips for the barest hint of a second. “Do I detect peanut?”

“Yes, chocolate cake with a peanut butter ganache. Needed to balance it with something salty. He might want to drown himself in sugar, but balance is better.” Then, without a single thought, Vesemir dragged his finger through the bowl of extra ganache and offered it to Jaskier.

Jaskier licked and sucked at the digit like he'd just been offered the stirring spoon, making sure to clean every last trace of the genache. The rough pad of Vesemir's finger scraped against his tongue, still tasting of chocolate and butter—rare ingredients this deep into winter. He went to a lot of effort for Geralt's sort of birthday.

Vesemir pushed the plate with the small test cake and the bowl of ganache off to the side so he remembered which one they picked, then slid the other test cakes closer. “Time to destroy the evidence before they see.” He held up another piece to Jaskier's lips—spice cake with butter cream icing.

Some buttercream smeared across his lips and Jaskier turned his head for Vesemir to wipe it away. Perched on the Old Witcher's knee, an arm wrapped around his back, Jaskier listened attentively to the names and ingredients of each cake. There were only three, really, and Geralt definitely liked the chocolate, but Vesemir tended to over do it a little now that he had someone like Jaskier to appreciate his cooking.

Geralt, Eskel and Lambert loved food and ate ravenously, but they'd eat day old bread off the ground if they were hungry. Vesemir hadn't had a pallet to impress in years, or anyone patient enough to sit as he handed them bite after bite to try and give feedback. Jaskier was a revelation, a new companion for Vesemir to feed and grumble about his boys with. Jaskier was always down for a good grumble.

Warm bread with fresh apple butter, pretzels hand twirled and formed into interesting knots, sticky lemon buns with a thin drip icing cascading down the sides... Jaskier ate whatever Vesemir asked him to try and was richly rewarded with wonderful food. “If you ever actually retire, you have a future ahead of you cooking for any court in the land.”

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” Vesemir grumbled, handing him a blueberry muffin.

The first time Jaskier asked to be hand fed was... not an accident. Not quite deliberate either. Vesemir handed him a bowl of stew with a thick piece of buttered bread to soak up the remainder, then returned with a bowl of sliced pears. “Last few of the season, I'll give you first crack.” He held the bowl out for Jaskier to take, but instead of shifting the slightly too warm stew into one hand and risk dropping it, Jaskier simply let his mouth fall open, waiting.

They were still standing in the small kitchen off the dining hall. The others were waiting for them, arguing about something or other that happened in morning training, Lambert got off a cheap shot and was gloating, it wasn't important. What was important, was the blush that spread across Vesemir's cheeks as he stared at Jaskier's mouth, lips so pink and wet, his tongue curled a bit at the end, waiting to pull in whatever food was offered.

His eyes dropped away and he grumbled under his breath, “Haven't fed anyone since they were babies...” And placed a pear slice in Jaskier's mouth.

Licking his lips so the juice didn't dribble down his chin, Jaskier chewed the sweet, yet tangy fruit. “Mmm, thank you. They would've devoured them all before I got any.” The stew had cooled a little and Jaskier felt better about shifting his grip. He took the bowl of pears and headed into the dining hall. As expected, they fell on them like the ravenous wolves they were. Jaskier smirked, pleased he got a taste before they devoured everything in sight.

The next time Vesemir had Jaskier for a taste test, he was trying out a new bread recipe. The three loaves were more or less the same, but Jaskier listened as Vesemir went on about air holes and tapped on the bread, trying to demonstrate proper sound or something. He handed Jaskier a slice slathered in butter, holding it in front of his lips. Jaskier opened his mouth. The firm crust brushed against his bottom lip, a little butter smearing the top. Vesemir cleared his throat and looked away, a pink tinge barely visible on his cheeks.

“You like it?”

“Yes. This is the one with the proper air, yes?” Jaskier did actually pay attention, whether he understood or not. He wouldn't have come this far in life if he didn't listen well, the number of lectures he got from Geralt about proper sword maintenance was staggering, but he listened carefully each time, and he knew to show the same courtesy to Vesemir.

“Yes.” Vesemir turned away, cutting another slice and buttering it.

“You don't have to be embarrassed,” Jaskier said. “You like taking care of people. I don't mind giving you that opportunity.”

“Hmm.” Ah, so that's where Geralt got it from.

Jaskier waited patiently and ate the next slice of bread offered, then the next. The last one came with fresh apple butter.

“I liked when they were littluns. Some of the boys came just out of swaddling. Couldn't hold a spoon. I enjoyed...”

“You enjoyed being a father,” Jaskier said. The life of a Witcher denied them many things, replaced a natural family with brothers in arms. Vesemir loved his boys, a blind idiot could see that, but they weren't children anymore, they didn't need him. “My father was a prick. Never showed me an ounce of kindness.”

Vesemir didn't say anything for a moment, just went back to cutting thick slices of bread. He had three plates already set out on the table for Geralt, Eskel and Lambert whenever they smelled food and came out of the wood work, wouldn't be long now. He made up his own plate and sat down next to Jaskier, much closer than normal. “Your father was a fool,” he grumbled and laid an arm across Jaskier's shoulders.

The first time Jaskier sat on Vesemir's knee while they ate... actually, he couldn't remember doing it specifically. There was always a steadying hand on his shoulder or his back, a fond anchoring touch, and one day, he simply sat down on his knee and they said nothing of it.

Vesemir loved his sons, but they were men now, old men by the standards of the world. He was there to guide and remind as they made their own way through life and its ups and downs. But Jaskier was practically a babe compared to them, if Vesemir missed having someone to teach and take care of... well, Jaskier really didn't mind filling that roll.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as winter was a rest, Witchers did love their schedules. Once a week, without fail, all three of them ended up in Geralt's room, complaining about imaginary problems in their own beds. “My room's cold,” was usually Eskel's excuse.
> 
> Lambert tried to vary his reasons: “Window's whistling, can't sleep with the noise.” Or: “My flue is backed up. Don't feel like suffocating tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the end of this fic that was 100% smut, nothing else to it. I guess it's technically a 4+1? Eh, doesn't matter, hope everyone enjoyed and got their favorite pairing, I sure did :)
> 
> If you find a typo, let me know and I'll take care of it.

Jaskier spent most of his winter traveling between bedrooms—one night with Eskel, one with Lambert, two with Geralt, rinse, repeat. Some nights, he'd wake to find all three piled beside him in Geralt's massive bed.

The first time it happened, he wondered if the storm outside damaged Eskel and Lambert's rooms, forcing them to take refuge elsewhere from the cold. He was partly right, it seemed. Feeling him stir, Geralt laid a heavy hand on the back of Jaskier's neck, trying to pull him back down into the puppy pile. “Eskel has two outside walls, Lambert's window leaks, storm makes it bad. Go back to sleep.”

Ah, so they were in here for warmth. His movement woke all three Witchers and Eskel quickly moved to help Geralt calm the bard, ruffling fingers through his hair before drifting off again. Lambert, eyes mostly closed, slid closer, pinning Jaskier between him and the White Wolf, making sure he couldn't move again until morning. Penned in by a whole lot of Witcher, Jaskier let three solid heart beats lull him back to sleep, the howling wind outside fading into nothing.

As much as winter was a rest, Witchers did love their schedules. Once a week, without fail, all three of them ended up in Geralt's room, complaining about imaginary problems in their own beds. “My room's cold,” was usually Eskel's excuse.

Lambert tried to vary his reasons: “Window's whistling, can't sleep with the noise.” Or: “My flue is backed up. Don't feel like suffocating tonight.”

Jaskier loved them all dearly, he wanted nothing more than to bring them peace and comfort whenever he could... but all three together had the potential to exhaust him. Eskel and Geralt at once weren't so bad, stroking and kissing Eskel's scars while fucking into Geralt, that he could manage. Lambert still liked Jaskier to himself, whether they were in his room or not. Eskel usually occupied Geralt at the other end of the bed while Lambert cooed and moaned around his fingers and cock. They hadn't all demanded his attention at once, not yet. Jaskier wondered if they were saving that for a truly amorous night.

Eskel and Lambert followed them up from dinner, both swiping at Geralt's backside—Lambert as a joke, Eskel to actually flirt—and Jaskier entertained himself with the idea of watching all three of them together, sitting off to the side enjoying the entertainment...

The door closed behind them and Lambert swept him up, kissing up and down his neck. The collar was safe in a drawer in his room, it didn't come out anywhere else, so Lambert was free to bite at him, pulling him out of his clothing a little rougher than usual. “You're lucky these aren't my good clothes,” Jaskier mumbled between kisses. Silk doublets were nice, but not warm at all. He swapped his colorful summer clothing for a nice wool tunic that flattered his wide chest. As a bard, Jaskier needed to be seen: bright colors, downward lines making him seem lithe and sprightly. In winter, only three men really needed to see him, and they didn't care what he wore (he got the feeling they'd rather have him naked all the time) so Jaskier got to show off the finer points of his figure, which earned him a few wolf whistles from mostly Lambert.

“All clothes look good on you.” Lambert bit his neck and turned him towards the bed. “But they do look better on the floor.”

Completely naked, Jaskier's eyes fell on the bed. Geralt sat against the pillows, his legs spread wide, like he was waiting for someone to settle between them. He crooked a finger and Lambert pushed Jaskier along, urging him onto his back. “Relax,” Geralt whispered, nails raking through Jaskier's hair as he settled between those thick things—so warm, like having two fires roaring at his sides. Pleasing tingles sparked their way across his scalp and down his neck, filling his mind with a soft snowy fog.

With Geralt's heavy legs around him, Jaskier settled back. Still, he couldn't help but notice the hard cock right next to his head. He licked his lips, squashing down the urge to take it into his mouth, he didn't know if that's what was requested tonight. “What is our plan here, gentlemen?”

Eskel climbed onto the bed as Lambert stripped the last of his clothes. Golden eyes swept over him, and Eskel bit his lip. “Figured you could use a break tonight.” Hands that looked so rough, but were so gentle ran down Jaskier's chest, a calloused finger drawing a line from his sternum to the trail of hair leading to his cock before delicately wrapping around his precious quarry. A few life times of practice with his hands had Jaskier squirming right away, thumb flicking across his slit, spreading wetness around and around his head.

“Uh, Eskel...” Jaskier moaned and melted back into Geralt's lap. A fucking amazing hand job in the warm lap of a Witcher? Yes please.

But Eskel wasn't about to stop there. He peered over his shoulder and Lambert fell into place behind him, hand reaching down, down— “Uh, fuck,” Eskel groaned.

Jaskier sucked in a breath. Was—was he fingering Eskel? Were they going to fuck on Jaskier's chest? Oh, this kept getting better and better. They touched each other all the time, pushed and shoved, rough housed like boys, but they all preferred to leave the actual business of fucking to Jaskier—he asked them to, after all. He knew they were intimate together, probably for years and years before he ever entered the scene, but seeing it in front of him (on top, more like) was such a treat. He licked his lips and stroked Eskel's cheek, purring at the sight, watching his scars twist into new configurations when his mouth dropped open.

Eskel's chest jerked when Lambert brushed his prostate. “This isn't for you,” he snarled.

Apologizing with a kiss to the small of his back, Lambert reached down again, between Eskel's legs, passing him the bottle of oil. A slick hand returned to stroke Jaskier's cock and he moaned again, louder, the noise reverberating up from deep in his chest. Hand still on Jaskier's prick, Eskel moved forward, lining them up. Jaskier barely had time to take a breath and grab a hold before Eskel started lowering himself down, surrounding Jaskier with his tight heat.

“Fucking Witchers...” He threw his head back and sighed, anything to keep from breaking apart. “I've been in your asses all winter, how are you still this fucking tight?”

“Is that a complaint?” Eskel asked lightly, like he wasn't starting to fuck himself down on Jaskier's cock, casually spearing himself open.

“It most certainly is not.” He held tight to Eskel's hips, watching firm skin dent under his fingers. “If you're doing all the work, I can get Lambert next.” On his back, didn't have to prep or make sure all parts were sufficiently oiled—Jaskier could go all night at this rate.

“Relax.” Hands as pale as moon light circled Jaskier's wrists and pried his grip off Eskel. Silvery white hair dipped down to tickle Jaskier's chest as Geralt leaned over, kissing his wrists and holding them softly. It was nothing like the way he held Lambert—the slight discomfort, the gentle stress of it designed to make him pay attention to his body and what Jaskier was doing to it—Geralt simply held his wrists, thumbs tickling over silk delicate skin. “Let us worry about tonight.”

Lambert fell in on Jaskier's other side, making his pile of Witcher complete. The scruff of beard rubbed his cheek and down his neck before Lambert let his lips trail over those same spots, soothing the light beard burn. “Sing for us, bard.” He covered Jaskier's lips with his own, swallowing any moaning songs Eskel's tight body managed to wring from him.

Surrounded by them all, the fire keeping the room warm and cozy, sweat started to bead on Jaskier's skin. Lambert was quick to lick it away, following drops over his neck and shoulders, occasionally stopping to exchange kisses with Geralt or sloppily lick at his cock. “It's Jaskier's night,” Geralt hissed, but he couldn't make himself bat Lambert away.

He went back and forth between Geralt's cock and Jaskier's mouth, pressing the taste of that heavy, masculine musk all along Jaskier's lips, bathing his tongue. Jaskier tried to arch up but Geralt held him down and Eskel picked up the pace, squeezing around him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Here it comes,” he gasped before his hips bucked, hips flush with Eskel's plush ass as he came. Jaskier's eyes rolled back into his head as lips covered his, swallowing his moans yet again.

Dizzy with the affection coming at him from all sides—quite literally—Jaskier took a moment to come down. When he opened his eyes, Geralt smiled down at him, but there was still a pressure against his thighs. “My turn,” a wicked voice whispered.

A hand settled around Jaskier's oversensitive prick and he jolted. “Fuck, ah—” Used to keeping up with Witchers, his body reacted to the touch and soon, Lambert had another fine erection in his hand.

He actually fucking licked his lips before reaching for the oil again. Eskel fell into place behind him, two fingers working their way into Lambert's hole. Jaskier knew exactly what he felt when he touched Lambert like that—the power in stroking the most intimate areas of such a bristly man, knowing you're the one who made him coo and turn and kiss in gratitude. The idea of all three of them together entered his mind again and Jaskier bit his lip. Another night, perhaps.

“You going to ride me?”

Lambert arched an eyebrow. “Oh yes, gonna ride you all night.”

Geralt released his hands for this, allowing Jaskier to grip tight to Lambert's hips, nails making little half moon indents in his skin. Jaskier threw his head back and sunk deeper into Geralt's embrace. “Yes, yes, more of that.” Hips rolled, Jaskier keened. With the heady smell of Geralt's musk around him, he couldn't control himself, turning his head, Jaskier licked up the side of his cock. Two Witcher asses, one Witcher cock, the perfect night.

“Mmm, Jaskier...” Geralt huffed. The teasing licks weren't enough to push him over, more a prelude to the next act. “Pay attention to Lambert.”

“I can't do both?” He placed wet, open mouthed kisses along the side of the shaft, unable to reach any higher or lower. Not his best technique, but he made it work.

A hand pinched his chin and turned his head, making him look at Lambert. Mischief sparkled in those yellow eyes, the scar cutting through one eyebrow giving him a wicked edge. Jaskier took for granted that he got to see these glorious creatures in their most soft and restful states, sometimes he forgot the predator that lived within them all.

“I want your attention right now.” Jaskier squeezed his hips again and much to his surprise, a shadow of a bruise began to rise. It probably wouldn't last until morning, but the fact that he could mark them—with his teeth, with his hands, with his love—was a heady thought indeed.

“Fine.” He settled deep between Geralt's legs, eyes offering a challenge to the wolf above him. “Take it from me.”

Sliding his tongue over his teeth in a feral show of intent, Lambert ground down, angling his hips so Jaskier's cock struck his prostate dead on. Hips rolled, back arched, Lambert threw his head back, sweaty hair glistening in the fire light. “Hold on, bard, you ain't seen nothin' yet.”

Witchers were streamlined creatures, built for total domination over whatever beast they set their eye on. They had perfect muscle coordination and control, could slow the beats of their heart, dilate their pupils on command, tune their ears to hear over miles of distance—and this was all without a single potion. Jaskier knew these facts, he wrote about them, sang about them, he was the Continent's foremost expert on Witchers without actually being one himself.

And yet, whenever they used that unparalleled control to clench around him, squeeze and hold like they wanted to suck him inside, Jaskier let out a sharp hiss of surprise. Every time. He should have learned his lesson after the first time Geralt rode him, the strong muscles of his core gripping him like a fucking fist. Lambert's thighs twitched around him, pushing the breath from his chest as he sucked the life out of him through his cock.

He came embarrassingly fast. If it was his first orgasm of the night, he would've apologized, but on his second... “Fuck, you're all too good. If you wanted to kill me this winter, I suppose this is a fine way to go.”

Boneless and limp on the bed, Jaskier watched with heavy eyes as they shifted around him. Geralt pulled him up until he felt that strong heart beating through the back of his chest. Eskel leaned in close to rub and caress his skin, licking here and there, scenting Jaskier like the pack of wolves they were. A cool cloth in his hand, Lambert wiped the oil and come off his skin, kissing every newly cleaned patch. A few rough brushes of beard against still sensitive skin made Jaskier chuckle. So they were all spreading their scent, claiming him in a way only they'd recognize. With Geralt's hair tangling with his, Eskel's licks, and Lambert's nuzzling, Jaskier imagined the look on Vesemir's face in the morning... “I thought the stink of them was enough,” he'd probably grumble.

Jaskier leaned back and let them touch to their hearts' content. He had half a mind to fall asleep in Geralt's lap, wouldn't be the first time. Tomorrow, he'd get back to fucking Eskel slow and deep while whispering words of his beauty; the day after, he'd slide cool leather around Lambert's neck and make him come until he shook; and the night after that, he'd settle in behind Geralt, dragging teeth and lips over that long neck while slowly fucking into him, making the White Wolf purr. He'd take care of them until the day he died, but one night off now and again wasn't so bad.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am round--robin on tumblr for similar nonsense.


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